


The worries of a marionette and his maker

by kingster



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Canon-diverge, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Probably more implied than relationship, Pseudo-Incest, Recreational Drug Use, Set after s01e09, Soft/Sappy, Spoilers for entire first season, Still sappy and fluffy but now with sex, spoilers for episode S02E07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4741601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingster/pseuds/kingster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Robot has an existential crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to episode 10!
> 
> I wrote this before watching the last episode. I tried to rewrite it so it would fit canon, but it didn't work out, so I'm just posting as is.

  
The first couple of days after his breakdown Elliot believed in Darlene and Angela when they said he wasn't real. Maybe he still does.  
  
Darlene watched over him like a hawk, made sure he took his pills and ate and slept and generally made him feel like a stupid little kid that couldn't take care of himself. She stayed with him for a few days, crowding him while he tried to figure things out.  
  
He was far from certain that their truth was the right one: maybe Mr. Robot wasn't real in their sense of the word, but Elliot knew he wouldn't have come this far without him.  Mr. Robot was essential to him, not only his plan, but to his well-being. A friend who always  knew what he felt without Elliot having to tell him. Perfect for a socially awkward boy that can never seem to find the right words except for in his head. 

\---

He's been gone for weeks when he shows up one morning in chair by the window in Elliot’s gritty apartment, an old tech-magazine open in his hands. He doesn't seem to be reading it, though, he just looks out the window. Elliot’s paranoia rattles him at first -  shit! There's someone in my apartment - and he's completely panicked a few seconds before he realizes who it is. Mr. Robot turns and looks at him with a calm "good morning, Elliot."  
  
"How did you get in here?" Elliot asks defensively. He walks past his house guest and starts preparing coffee.  
  
"I think you know," Mr. Robot says.  
  
Elliot doesn't answer. He's thankful the electrical grinder is too loud to speak over. It runs for ten, maybe fifteen seconds, filling the room with the distinct smell of freshly ground coffee, and a hint of weed (a mistake that just won't stop smelling). The air seems clear afterward, Elliot thinks.  
  
"What are you more upset about?" Mr. Robot asks. "Me leaving, or me coming back?"  
Elliot shakes his head. He doesn't know. He takes out two cups from the cupboard. He feels a little clumsy cause he knows he's being looked at.  
  
"You missed me," Mr. Robot says.  
  
\---  
  
They sit opposite on the small kitchen table and drinks tar-black coffee while the morning sun draws patterns on the wall. Elliot doesn't feel like eating. He rarely does in the morning. Sometimes he manages to eat a piece of toast before he goes to work, a pop-tart if he has, but not today. He has mixed feelings about Mr. Robots presence.  
  
"Not much of a morning person, are you," Mr. Robot says casually.  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Mixed feelings, huh? Is that what I'm hearing in there?" Mr. Robot leans forward and points a steady finger too close to Elliot’s forehead. Elliot pulls back slightly, doesn’t wanna be touched. "So, let's talk it out."  
  
Elliot wishes his had his hoodie on. Always feels safer with a hoodie. Less exposed.  
  
"I know you're not real," Elliot says.  
  
He lets the statement hang in the air for a bit. It made a lot more sense in his head. He thinks about Angela, what she said at the train station. That she would love to talk to her mom again, even if she wasn't real. She seemed to find comfort in the idea that his crazy manifested itself in the shape of his father, so he decided not to tell her that it wasn't like that at all.  
  
"And you're sure about that?"  
  
"Well..." Elliot starts, ready to use all the arguments he's accumulated over the last few weeks, but instead he just sighs.  
  
"No," he corrects himself, "I'm not sure. But there's something else."  
  
Mr. Robot raises his eyebrows as Elliot considers the best way to say this. There's really no alternative phrasing.  
  
"You're not my dad," he says.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"You might look like him, talk like him, and sometimes I think you two are a bit similar - but you're not him - " Elliot insist by tapping his index finger against the table, "I'm sure of this."  
  
Mr. Robot looks at him with disbelief and Elliot has to look away. He examines the wavering image of himself in the cup. Does he always look so scared? He suspects he does.  
  
"You've become something else. My memories of him... they're not connected to you."  
  
Mr. Robot leans back on the chair with a scoff, his arms crossing his chest.  
  
"Oh yeah? So which one of them is it you're going for? Am I not real, or am I not your dad? You better tell me what you decide, boy, so I can get with the program."  
  
Anger flares up in Elliot like a fueled flame. Sometimes he just can't stand the smug, self-confident, know-it-all bastard. He sees himself from the outside for a brief moment, sees himself smash his right fist into the table and yell: "Fuck you! FUCK. YOU." Both cups rattle. His falls over.  
  
"You did this, YOU!" he sputters and hates that Mr. Robot just sits there being annoyingly calm. "If you wanted to be my dad you could have reminded me who I was, and who you were - told me some of our shared memories. You had your chance and you blew it. You don't get to be him."  
  
His rage is fading, slowly replacing itself with regret.  
  
"I would have remembered you," he continues in a more quiet voice, "if you had told me who you were. Sometimes I just need a reminder, you know? But instead, you chose to be this other, strange..." He stops talking cause he realizes that he no longer knows where he's heading with this. Also, his voice is gonna break. He's embarrassed about how much of his time he spends feeling on the verge of despair. It like his life is always just one small inch away from being ripping apart to fly off somewhere else, like a weather-beaten flag in a storm.  
  
They're both quiet for a while. Elliot is startled by the feeling of Mr. Robots hands closing around his slightly beaten right hand. It hurts a little but less than other things.    
  
"I became what you needed me to be, Elliot."  
  
Elliot looks at the hands covering his, then up at the face that once belonged to his father, but now belongs to someone else, a man he first met on the subway, that led him to the path that may or may not eventually save the world. His expression is soft, concerned.  
  
"Is it okay, though," Elliot clears his throats and asks, "that you are not him? That you are Mr. Robot instead? I'm so confused right now, I..."  
  
"Yeah, it's okay," Mr. Robot says.  
  
Elliot nods slowly. Good, good. He offers an apologetic look as he frees his hand from Mr. Robots grip and says to explain: "Nobody really... holds my hands." He pauses. "Well, except for..." he trails off.  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
"So," Elliot says, mostly to sum it all up to himself, "I'm Elliot. And you are Mr. Robot. And my dad is -" the word gets stuck in his throat.  
  
He pauses for a long time, but he can sense Mr. Robot expects him to say something more. He doesn't know what. Maybe if he waits the conversation will just finish itself.  
  
"So," Mr. Robot starts tentatively, "just to make sure we're on the same page here."  
  
Not so lucky.  
  
"Okay..."  
  
"I'm real."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I'm. Real." Mr. Robot says like Elliot didn't hear him the first time and points needlessly to himself.  
  
"Uhh," Elliot starts and scratches his head, "sure," but he hears the way it comes out and it doesn't sound entirely convincing. And that seems to be what Mr. Robot gets out of it too, judging by his expression.    
  
"Eh - sure?" he scoffs indignantly.  
  
Elliot tries to repeat it back to him one more time with a little more conviction, but it's really not helping and he curses himself for not practicing his social skills a little more. He should be better at lying. And being polite. Smalltalk. Actually, talking in general. To real people. Or maybe it should be the other way around: people should be better at telling the truth. And shutting the fuck up.  
  
"Elliot, I'm serious. I can't be here if I'm not real. You should know that. Look at me. "  
  
And looking at anyone is probably the last thing Elliot wants to do at any given point, in particular when he's told to do exactly that, but okay, he senses this isn't really just gonna go away. So he looks at Mr. Robot, really _looks at him_ , trying to explain things without words, cause what's he's supposed to say? He surprised to see that Mr. Robot looks upset. Afraid, even. It dawns on Elliot that he truly is.  
  
"You're scared not to be real," he says quietly.  
  
Mr. Robot nods, his glassy eyes don't stray from Elliots. "You know I can only exist with your permission," he whispers back.  
  
Is that really true? Elliot feels a tug of sadness. He considers the problem. Then reaches out and touches Mr. Robots face. He runs a finger slowly up his cheek, over the bridge of his nose, down his jawline on the other side. Mr. Robot lets him. He doesn't say a word, just looks at Elliot with a worried, waiting look.  
  
Can he really feel this? Can he feel the curves of a face, soft skin, and stubble? Can he feel the hairs of the eyebrows as he tracing them, the folds of an ear?  
  
"Of course you're real, Mr. Robot," Elliot hears his own voice say. Something inside him breaks away and separates itself from the rest of him.  
  
"I mean, not normal person kind of real," he continues, "you're invisible to everyone but me, so... that's different. And you tend to show up wherever, whenever. But Darlene kinda does that too."  
  
He stops for a bit, thinks.  He always knows what to say to Elliot to make feel what he's supposed to feel... well, not good -  but _right_   - at that particular moment. And honestly, that's just _unheard_ of.  
  
Elliot laughs to himself a little. No, definitely not normal person kind of real.  
  
"But you're real to me," he says and offers an optimistic smile. "If that's good enough for you?"  
  
Mr. Robot's been sitting like a stone-carves statue, but suddenly comes to life as his face breaks into a wide smile. He laughs a short, relieved laughter.    
  
"You know kid, you almost had me going there," he says, his usual arrogant expression back like it was never gone. "But I understand that touching me really can change things. I'm just that awesome."  
  
Elliot cracks up. He shakes his head, says fuck you, arrogant prick, but it has no sting. Mr. Robot shrugs it off.  
  
"Thank you, Elliot," he says, eyes thankful for a short second.  
  
Elliot feels a wave of happiness sweep through him. It's warm and soft.  
  


\---


	2. From the wooden box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know the very creepy and kinda "romantic" act of watching someone while they sleep? Yeah. Add drugs and sex. Fun for everyone. And... yeah. Don't try this at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned this. But then I started writing it and I thought, okay, good, let me just finish this real quick and get back to real-life. Instead, this (relatively short) chapter has just kept me hostage for about a WEEK. So now I'm posting it so I can get back to my real-life. Be kind. 
> 
> *Posts story and runs away*  
> \---

  
Elliot knows it's at least two kinds of wrong that Mr. Robot shows up by his bed, but honestly, he doesn't mind. It's been one of those days.  
  
It didn't start out bad, but something took hold of him and just didn't want to let go. He had breakfast and coffee, then he walked Flipper and came back home. And started thinking too much. That was his downfall. About Shayla, about Gideon. About Angela, that felt she didn't know him anymore. Echoes of words and situations came flying at him too fast to process, and before he knew what has happening he was sitting in a corner of his apartment, yelling at something he'd already forgotten about.  
  
Then, in a clear moment, he remembered something, a small wooden box Shayla had given him at some point, accompanied by a secretive smile. For a bad day, he remember her saying. It's always a bad day, he thought, but didn't say. Even in his head it sounded overly melodramatic and depressing.  
  
They were light blue, and he guessed they consisted of some MDMA, some amphetamine and probably some other shit he didn't really like, but he decided to take one anyway. Before the hour had passed he stood up straight and felt like a normal person. Like a happy person. And it got better, the strong claws of anxiety that had held him for hours before not only let him go, but apologized: _we shouldn't have been so hard on you, Elliot, we know you're doing your best_. He felt he could think for the first time for in a while. He called Angela and talked with her for a long time, got things cleared up. The things that could be cleared up, anyways. He put on music, cleaned the apartment a little. Flipper seemed confused about all the activity.  
  
\---  
  
Mr. Robot shows up after he's rolled a joint, taken a hot shower, and found his way to bed after long walk in the night with Flipper. He doesn't see him at first, just feels his presence.  
  
"Are you watching me?" Elliot asks. There's no answer. He takes a hit from the joint, holds in the smoke for a few seconds, then exhales.    
  
"I know you're here," he says.  
  
"I'm not watching you. I'm watching over you. There's a difference."  
  
Elliot's not so sure about that. He looks over at Mr. Robot who stands by his bed, and offers him the joint. Mr. Robot shakes his head and gets a chair from the kitchen table. He places it beside then bed, and sits down. Elliot finishes his joint, and shuts off the small lamp by his bed. He can still see the contour of Mr. Robot in the light from the street.  
  
"Are you really gonna sit here while I sleep?"  
  
"For a while."  
  
Elliot knows it's gonna take him longer than "a while" to fall asleep.  The joint relaxed his body, but not his mind, he's very much awake. He's on his back, looking up on the subtle color changes in the ceiling. The colors turns into patterns that slowly morphs into other patterns. It's nice pot. Real nice.  
  
Absentmindedly, he reaches out and interlaces his hand with Mr. Robots. He seems taken off-guard, but Elliot doesn't really care. If you show up by someones bed in the middle of the night when they're coming down of Ecstasy, you might just have to deal with holding someone's hand, that's just how it is. He rubs the back of the hand that's considerably bigger than his. It's soothing. It's been a while since he's been close to anyone. Last time he had any kind of physical contact was Angela giving him a hug. He should know better than to do Ecstasy all alone. Then again, it's when he gets most thinking done. When he doesn't have to consider anyone else's feelings, he can just do exactly what he wants and feel great about it. It's rare for him to feel great.  
  
He turns around, tugs the hand a little closer. Mr. Robot inches the chair along. Elliot draws lines from the center of the palm out to the fingertips.    
  
"Your hand is bigger than mine," he says.  
  
"Yeah, well." Mr. Robots chuckles, "that makes sense. I'm bigger than you in general."  
  
Elliot's fingers travels from the hand and up Mr. Robots arm, all the way up to the elbow. He rubs carefully over the soft skin on the inside of the elbow. The skin is so thin there it feels different from the rest of the skin. Elliot likes the feeling of it. The frailty. There is a small, almost inaudible hitch in Mr. Robots breath, and suddenly he moves, the legs of the chair streaks against the floor. A few seconds after he's back again, kneeling on the floor beside the bed.    
  
There is a surge through Elliot when he realizes that he can just keep pulling Mr. Robot closer and he will follow. He can feel his own heartbeat though his entire body, it pulses all the way out to the skin: it's almost painful. Elliot reaches out and traces the mouth in front of him. He's waiting for a reaction, a rejection, but when nothing happens he leans in and kisses it. It's short and chaste, he hasn't kissed anyone since Shayla (the other one doesn't count) but it seems to wake the entire body belonging to the mouth. In a swift, forceful motion he's pulled towards the figure beside him. He instinctively resists at first cause it feels like an attack, but when a strong hand under his head draws him into the softness of a wet mouth, he turns pliant.  
  
Elliot's rarely the one to initiate intimacy of any kind, but sometimes it happens anyway (not due to his own efforts) and it usually worries him. He worries about being awkward, or not being able to connect. He's afraid to lose himself in the other person so much he'll oversee them or forget them somehow. But this is different. He's not sure why, maybe it's the intensity in everything Mr. Robot does, but Elliot knows that if he wants something, he will either ask, or just take it. The only thing Elliot needs to do is to let himself be taken over.  
  
And it's easy. He just delves into the shapes of the the other face, the small lines by his eyes, the way the skin feels different than his own. The small prickles of hair on his chin. He shivers at the sensation of having his fingers sucked. It's a weird combinaton of lewd and sweet, he thinks. He savors the small, pained sound that emerges from Mr. Robot when Elliot weaves his hands into the dark hair and pulls too hard.  
  
"Come on," he whispers and scoots over, "get in."  
  
Mr. Robot lays down beside him, facing him. Elliot settles on his arm, presses his face into the naked chest and inhales. There is this smell, a familiar smell that he can't quite place, but reminds him of something good. He thinks it might be the smell of clean hair, but not shampoo. It's more masculine than what he's used to.    
  
"You know, I really only meant to watch over you."  
  
"You've ever taken Ecstasy?" Elliot's asks, voice muffled against skin.  
  
"No."  
  
"It enhances everything. Makes everything brighter, in a way. And touch is really special. You can feel touch long after it's gone. Like a ghost of the touch."  
  
Mr. Robot runs a finger slowly down Elliot's side. It gives Elliot goosebumps. "Is that your way of saying that you don't mind having me in your bed?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"So you're really sensitive, huh?" Mr. Robot says, and Elliot's not sure if it is rhetorical or not but he finds it best not to answer.  
  
\---  
  
After a while, Mr. Robot has found several ways to make all the small hairs on Elliot's body rise in unison, and some places where he's really ticklish. He's unsure whether he likes or dislikes having his armpit licked, but it certainly gives an interesting reaction. He has learned that Elliot appreciates having his neck bitten, probably harder than he'd like to admit, and that there is spot below his left ear that just makes him go entirely weak. And as he releases one of his nipples from between his teeth and Elliot shudders under him, he realizes something else.  
  
"You're very quiet."  
  
Elliot hears the words, but he's so far away that it takes him a while to understand that they're meant for him.    
  
"Uhh, yeah," Elliot says dumbly.  
  
"And how am I supposed to know what you like if you don't make any sounds?"  
  
"Well... so far it's good," Elliot answers. He doesn't really like the conversation. "I'll let you know if it hurts."  
  
Mr. Robot laughs a little. "You'll let me know if it hurts?! That's good. That's exactly what I wanna hear when I'm bed with someone."  
  
He touches Elliot's hipbone lightly with one finger. "You're a weird kid, you know that?" he says and replaces the finger with his tongue, slowly licking a trail towards Elliot's groin.  
  
"I'm not a kid," Elliot says.  
  
"You have to decide if making an argument is really the best use of my mouth right now."  
  
Point taken, Elliot thinks as heat envelops his cock and pleasure start spiraling up his back. He presses his lips together and regrets being defiant, cause he's pretty sure there's an effort put in to making it sound as obscene as possible. And it's working. It's hard to hold back when the wet sounds come together with the image of Mr. Robot below him, mouth around his cock, hands gripping his hips tightly. He sucks Elliot in deep and looks up at him with dark eyes. Elliot struggles to look away.  
  
"You're gonna make me come too fast," he says.  
  
There is something animal-like by the way Mr. Robot moves up towards Elliot and straddles him. A nose is pressed to his cheek and the image of a wolf crosses his mind. Definitely a predator. He kisses Elliot deeply, a faint taste of salt on his lips. Elliot pushes up against him, wants to be closer, wants to feel more. Mr. Robot answers by laying down on top of him, the weight of his body covering Elliot's. Even his arms is pinned to the bed. It feels good and claustrophobic at the same time. Elliot is torn between letting him know when he can't breathe anymore and dying happy. Luckily, Mr. Robot chooses for him, and lays down beside him instead. He wraps a hand around Elliot's cock and starts to jerk him off slowly, a pleased smile spreading on his face. Then he leans close to Elliot and says: "Next time, I'm gonna fuck you. Then you won't manage to be quiet."  
  
Elliot minds turn blank. The only thing he can register is the feeling of a hand around his cock, and the fingers that push inside him. The words _fuck you so hard_ and _come inside you_ finds him and kicks him over the edge as he buries his face in Mr. Robots neck, biting down hard on whatever skin he can find. His entire world vibrates, and for a few short seconds he's sure he can hear a loud ringing in his head. It fades quickly and the only thing left is his own ragged breathing he's trying to gain control over.  
  
He moves to breathe fresh air, and reaches out to nothing in particular.  Than suddenly his hand is wet, and he realizes that he's managed to smear his own sticky mess all over Mr. Robots abdomen. He scoffs, displeased with his own crudeness, and grabs a t-shirt by the bed to dry it off.  
  
"Sorry I bit you and came all over you," he says lamely as he wipes his fingers off.    
  
There is pause long enough to make Elliot nervous before Mr. Robot snickers beside him.  
  
"You're a weird, weird kid, Elliot," he says, voice amused, and pulls Elliot in for an embrace. "No wonder you're the one who's gonna save the world."

 

***


	3. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A timeout from all things square and orange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for S02E07!
> 
> Drabble, written too late without my computer. Forgive me.

His suit is orange, but his life has turned square. Square like his cell. Square like his days are just as long as his nights. Square like everyone else in here. Offline. It feels like losing some superpower he’s had for so long he’s can barely remember being without. He’s just ussure if he’s a hero or a villain. People keep telling him conflicting things. He keeps telling himself conflicting things. In the real word, in the chaos of the strange, beautiful and frightening world where he used to walk, he would wear black to be invisible. In here he’s painfully orange, but still invisible. To most people, at least.

Mr. Robot is soft. It’s probably the only soft thing in Elliot’s cell, and Elliot knows this because he’s curled up on his bunk in a soft lap, with big soft hands drawing patterns in his hair and neck. Making him calm, even if things are square and orange. A little sleepy even.

“Did I really kill Tyrell?” he asks quietly, thinking that maybe the slightly intimate setting can get Mr. Robot to reveal something more than what he’s already told him.

“No, Elliot, I told you,” Mr. Robot says, “I did. It’s not the same.”

“No, I’m – I’m pretty sure it is.”

Mr. Robot sighs deeply. Elliot can feel the inhale and exhale against the side of his face. A finger slides down his forehead, down the curve of his nose, over his lips.

“What did I tell you, Elliot?”

“To become a leader?”

“Mhmm. And what is it that leaders doesn’t do?”

“Uh… worry?”

“Exactly! That’s right. They don’t worry.”

“But they should. It’s good to worry. Or else you might end up an asshole, you know. Or a dictator.”

He’s not really tempted to get up, it’s really comfortable right where he is, but he does it anyway to get his point across. He lifts his head from the lap, and put his feet on the floor and tilts up into a sitting position. He turns his head and lock his gaze at the green eyes beside him.

“I don’t want to be a dictator, Robot.”

Mr. Robot’s lips curve to a crooked smile.

“Maybe you should just call me Bot. Y’know, since we’ve uh, spent so much time together.”

“Don’t joke this away. I’m serious.”

Mr. Robot looks down, nods. Fast at first, then slower, like it’s takes a while for it to sink in. When he looks at Elliot again it’s with a softer, more humble look. He strokes his hand over Elliot cheek.

“I know you are, Elliot. But so am I. If you’re gonna lead, you can’t worry about every small detail.”

“It’s not a detail! It’s a person!” Elliot’s voice is so high he nearly squeaks before he pulls himself together and lowers his voice to a whisper: “A person that’s not alive anymore because of me. It’s not- it’s not – I can’t be…”

Mr. Robot shushes him quiet.

“Tyrell is exactly where he knew he would be when he got into this, Elliot,” the voice is almost inaudible against his scalp, “don’t worry about it.” A kiss is pressed to his forehead. So, so soft.

“It’s nothing to see here, folks, move along,” Elliot whispers to himself and suddenly his head his too heavy. He have to rest it on a shoulder, slightly harder than everything else on Mr. Robot, but not hard enough to move away from.

\---

 


End file.
